


"It's you."

by Wrathofscribbles



Series: Soulmate AUs [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Pre-Relationship, Promnisweek2019, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 10:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17405075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: "You're my soulmate."





	"It's you."

**Author's Note:**

> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.
> 
> For Promnis week! I went with "soulmate AU" from the day 1 prompts and... it didn't quite go according to plan 😅

Every child in Insomnia knows of soulmates - it’s a topic broached in their education as soon as they reach the age of 9, when they’re deemed old enough to know right from wrong and give voice to what they think love _is_.  They’re taught of the many different ways to identify a soulmate and _why_ they exist, that the gods themselves felt humans were better in pairs, completed each other, _complemented_ each other (what a load of poppycock).  Some children are lucky enough to meet their soulmates in those classes and become best friends with them, to realise the stark black marks somewhere on their bodies _match_ , or they see the scrawly handwriting on their inner forearm in the creative stories they read from someone at the next table over.  Others, like Ignis’s late mother, don’t find their soulmates until they’re in college and hear a snippet of conversation in the packed corridors, a snippet from their dreams.  Others, like Gladio’s father’s friend, meet their match in the middle of a bar fight when skin contact occurs, fists dropped in shock and horror while onlookers buckle in sudden laughter.

Ignis knows the fanciful stories taught to children but he also learns of the gods’ cruelty, because he has to be well-versed in all the trappings of an ill-suited soulmate if he’s to protect Noctis from an influence that will sully his family name or tarnish the crown atop his head or even _even lead him to an early death_.

There are some cruel, evil people in the world capable of murder and torment and all kinds of abuse.  There are those who would seek to manipulate their soulmate, trick them, trap them, do horrible, _horrible_ things and claim love, claim care, and maybe they’re born that way, maybe there are crossed wires in their brains.  Or maybe… the world breaks them down and carves them inside out and they become monsters just to survive.

He’s read of some soulmates who’ve lost their other, grief eating them up and turning off their will to live.  He’s read of criminals who met their soulmates too late and flew into a rage at the sight of them happy with _someone else_.  He’s heard stories in the Guard and Glaive of people cursed to find their soulmate in death, a comrade lost to war and gasping the words scarred on flesh and oh, it wasn’t the _first words scenario_ at all.  He’s seen his fair share of haunted faces and tears on his uncle’s cheeks in the dead of night, cold and still to the touch and coffee forgotten as Ignis gently ushers him to bed… he _knows_ soulmates can make or break a life, can be kind or cruel or deadly.  He _has_ to know, for Noctis and for himself, especially when they’re both to dabble in magic putting them one step closer to the gods and their influence and all it entails.

Noctis doesn’t have any marks or words or vague impressions of someone else’s emotions and general wellbeing, and after the Marilith attack he stops dreaming.  Ignis fears he might not _have_ someone out there, not because he can’t be happy without a soulmate (plenty of people have beautiful lives without them!)... but because Ignis hears a tune in his head at night when he’s drifting between the waking and slumbering worlds.  Gunfire - his soulmate’s a fighter - and someone humming.

He doesn’t know which is more distressing - not hearing how the tune finishes before it cuts off into more gunfire, or the fact his soulmate _definitely_ sounds like an older boy.

* * *

His soulmate - because he’s 99.9% certain a tune sticking with him through the trauma of nearly losing his childhood friend and hearing his screams for months afterwards, and highschool and puberty and his first disastrous introduction to Noct’s magic can’t be anything other than a soulmate’s calling card - isn’t a member of any security detail.  Only a dozen or so Crownsguard use guns, even fewer in the Glaive, and none are young enough to be the mystery hummer haunting his night hours.  Still, he hovers around them for peace of mind, listens to the report of gunshots to draw up a comparison.  Too loud, too quiet, too muffled, a clumsy reload, too many seconds between shots.

He just about has a heart attack when he meets Luche Lazarus of the Kingsglaive because he’s _almost_ a perfect match, the rapid fire of his mystery man is from _two_ guns then, how odd, but the sound is wrong, the… the _movement_.  Luche stands still when he lines up a shot, but the noise level at night _shifts_ as if his soulmate is in motion… as if he’s in a fight or on the run, compared to Luche’s _practicing_.

A second concern, then.  Is he doomed to a sad ending?  Will he find the one marked by the gods as his partner on the battlefield with death in the air and their lungs?  Will a chance at happiness be stolen from him just seconds after finding it?  Even more chilling - if the gunfire is from battle… will they be on the same side?  Or will he be forced to turn on his soulmate to protect Noctis?

“Ignis, right?”  Luche says, and Ignis startles to find him so close, brows hitched up in open curiosity.  He doesn’t take a step back, he doesn’t clear his throat, and he absolutely does not start fussing with his sleeves or the stray cat hairs dotting his jacket.  He’s been practicing his poker face and needs the body language to back it up, goddammit.

“Glaive Lazarus, apologies for the intrusion.  I’ve been considering firearms as my primary weapon of choice,” not _technically_ a lie, just a stretching of the truth.  They’re his third choice.

“And… you’ve made a decision?”  The smirk laces his voice, if such a thing is possible, makes him sound… _smug_.  It rankles, ruffles his feathers as Gladio would say, and he draws his spine straight and looks up, looks Luche dead in the eye as he layers ice in his tone, specially crafted just for him.

“Such weapons are far too _impersonal_ for my tastes.  Anyone can shoot someone in the back.”

_If he only knew._

* * *

_It can’t be Prompto._  It can’t _possibly_ be Prompto.  Almost 11 years after noticing he had a recurring sound in his dreams and hearing of _soulmates_ for the first time from his uncle, and seeing worry carve lines into his face upon realising the rapid shots were _gunfire_ thanks to some random TV show at the time, Ignis suspects he’s found the ghost humming at the back of his head.  Members of the Crownsguard test Prompto’s marksmanship, his strength, his stamina, his battle strategy and adaptability and Ignis watches in something that might be horror or surprise or delayed delight or - he’s not sure at all.  He’s caught Prompto bopping along to music before, heard the beat low in his throat as he twirls and bends and slides and flips, but it’s never been _that_ tune - but this… _Prompto favours firearms_.

Crisis.  He’s at a crisis point and beside him Noctis all but vibrates on the spot, both hands clapped over his mouth to keep from calling out advice again.  That or screaming his support.  Gladio, too, observes, weighing Prompto’s worth as a potential guard for Noctis, a last stand between their prince and an unknown foe.  Some distant part of him wonders what Gladio sees, if he’s impressed, but -

But Prompto favours _two guns_.  He moves as he shoots, barely a breath between each bang echoing in the training hall, and while his footwork is sloppy, _rushed_ (he’ll tire himself out too soon to be useful in a fight beyond the Wall) it - he -

It can’t be Prompto.

* * *

Ignis is still in denial even when the nightly siren song _stops_ without rhyme or reason or explanation.  Especially when a typical Saturday morning comes to an abrupt halt with the sound of glass smashing on the floor.  Noctis rushes to Prompto in alarm, sidestepping the puddle and shards and asking him if he’s alright, saying his name three times and laying a hand on his shoulder when Prompto doesn’t reply, even goes so far as to give him a quick shake.  Ignis follows Prompto’s gaze to the hand clamped tight over the fabric he always ties around his bicep, and then Prompto looks up and their eyes meet, _hold_ for only a handful of pained heartbeats, something like horror blooming on that freckled face and draining his cheeks bone-pale.

“I gotta go,” Prompto declares all at once, launching into a flurry of panicked motion and despite Noctis’s protests, despite Ignis’s, Prompto’s bag is packed and over his shoulder in record time and the front door slams shut in Noct’s face as he gives pursuit with a confused _Prompto wait!_

“What did you do?!” He demands shortly after and Ignis still hasn’t touched his coffee, still can’t process what… happened.

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” he replies, quiet, subdued, sweeping up the glass as his brain stutters over Prompto’s reaction, replaying it again and again as he dumps the shards in the bin and mops up the juice and gives a quick spritz of cleaner just to avoid a sticky patch on the linoleum later.   _Words cannot espresso how much my stove thanks you_ he’d said to Noctis, a friendly ribbing, a teasing jab at his lackluster attempts at cooking outwith his part time job, and Prompto had stiffened like a rabbit in headlights, like Ignis had called down Ramuh’s might himself and struck him with a lightning bolt to the ribs.

The hand on his arm.  The covered skin Ignis hasn’t seen bare in the months he’s known Prompto - the year and some Notis has…  Does Prompto have a soulmate’s mark?

... It can’t be him, can it?

* * *

“Dun da-da dun dun-dun da da-dun!”

“Sounds like someone’s in a good mood.”

“What?  We’re alive, right?  That’s reason enough for - Iggy look out!”

He’s too stunned, too _slow_ to react to Prompto’s yell.  He’s too busy staring at him, can’t tear his eyes off him, to spy the imminent danger.  He drowns in the collision of past and present, memory and reality, that _tune_ , the humming just before it, the gunshots -

Jaws clamp down on his leg, punishing, brutal, and he might just scream from the riot of agony in his shin as something snaps and he crumples, scrabbling for something to grab hold of, to anchor himself to as he’s dragged backwards towards a watery grave, gunfire and magic exploding over him, around him, everywhere.

_Painpainpainpainpainpain!_

“Iggy!  Iggy, talk to me!  Are you alright?  Iggy!”

 _Prompto_.  Prompto rolling him over when the teeth come loose.  Freckles and blood smears and eyes so violet-blue.  Wavering voice like a badly tuned radio and hands all over, too quick and too rough and panic written clear as day on his face.

 _“It’s you,”_ he says, hissing it through his teeth as he wills his voice through the fire-haze of so much agony rocketing up and down the length of his leg.

“Hang on Iggy, Noct’s gonna patch you up real quick.  Hang on, yeah?  Stay with me.”

_“You’re my soulmate.”_

He thinks he might manage a smile, or maybe it’s a pained wince, or maybe his lips don’t move at all and he just imagines it, fingers twitching with the urge to pat Prompto’s knee and promise everything will be fine, they’ve had worse, _he’s_ walked away from worse, this is nothing -

But Ignis blinks, just one tiny, innocent blink, and knows no more.

**Author's Note:**

> ... now before anyone starts screaming at me, did you see a death warning tag? Rest assured Ignis has _not_ just gone and popped his clogs XD
> 
>  _But Prompto doesn't know that yet, does he?_ Hehehehehehehehehe


End file.
